


convalesce

by Moveduser123



Category: The Legend of Zelda, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Acceptance, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Crying, Cuddling, Cutting, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Recovery, Relapsing, Self-Destruction, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 10:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11621670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moveduser123/pseuds/Moveduser123
Summary: 'But what if I don't want to be the hero,' is what Link doesn't say.





	convalesce

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Please note that romance will not solve your problems, and I don't mean to imply that it does with this fic. Nor am I a homosexual-obsessed straight girl meaning to represent Link as a weak and unfortunate crybaby; I simply believe that all people, strong or meek, are capable of developing a mental illness. I am also aware of Mipha's existence, but could not fluidly represent her presence in this. If you have a problem with any aforementioned listings you are welcome to write your own work.  
> \---  
> This fic was based off my own experiences; if you are going through something similar please find help. You don't have to be alone in your fight.
> 
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Link is a liar.

He lied to himself when he denied any knowledge of knowing when it had started. He lied to his friends when he said it just ‘sort of happened’. And he lied to his lover without hesitation when he sternly claimed that he had no idea what triggered it.

Link is a liar.

And he knows down to the minute where it all fell apart.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s in Hell. He’s sure of it. It’s a brutal, torturous melting pot of monsters and death and overwhelming pain. It is a struggle, a _war_ to wade through metaphorical minefields of lizalfos, bokoblins, moblins, and lynels, all the while trying to remember and embody the person everyone _tells you_ you should be.  And it doesn’t help that the Hylian Champion had already started with a bad hand; he’d wrestled through laborious unending training day in and day out in an attempt to keep his family lineage shining, he’d been forced to hear the symphony of similar prophecies dictating the importance of his role, burning his perceived value into his skin like branding on a horse.

The other knights were lucky. They didn’t have Hylia herself taking them by the hand and leading them straight into the maw of hatred and evil. They didn’t have anxiety bubbling behind their ribs when their performance fell even the smallest amount below perfect. They didn’t glance around frantically for the approval of their ancestors, desperate to meet the high bar the people of Hyrule set for them.

Of course Zelda was the first to notice; she inquired about his constant silence, and he divulged his dark secrets after a bit of careful prodding. She often tried to offer support, and it really did help. He wouldn’t speak about it again, but she’d just _be there_ , and that was enough to keep him stable.

But when she wasn’t there, when Link was alone, far from the distractions of social interaction, with only a wooden dummy and a sword, ebony tendrils of self-doubt curled around his mind, blurring the edges of his vision. They snuck out from the corners in which they hid, raining down on him, catching on the ridges of his spine like burrs and barbed wire. They took the form of stubborn vines of toxic hatred that cut deep into his skin, infecting his blood and flowing through him, to the very tips of his fingers. It was a debilitating mental disease.

However, Link refused to let himself cry. Not when Zelda was suffering, crushed under the weight of her own problems. Not when the other Champions stood unwavering, unflinching in the face of danger, _willing_ to be the protectors of Hyrule. Not when every Hylian, Gerudo, Goron, Rito, and Zora looked up to him in awe, expecting him to land the final blow on Ganon with the princess by his side. Not when he, when _everyone_ , needed him to be strong.

 

* * *

 

It started before he could even properly lift an iron rapier, still training with a dinky training blade, when the fortune teller called him out of a crowd, announcing that he held the spirit of the hero. That day, townspeople that normally wouldn’t spare him a first, let alone a second, glance now gawked at him in wonder and reverence. It was the day Link was thrust into a position of responsibility a twelve year old kid should not have been in. It was the day his childhood was snatched from his hands, replaced instead by rigorous training and formal instruction. It was the day his friends started to shun him from their groups, stating that with Link’s new position, any game they’d play would be unfair, scales permanently tipped in his favor. Link disagreed, but didn't push it.

 

* * *

 

It only seemed to fester from that day on. While Link mourned the life he once had, the royal family scoured the land for potential pilots for the Divine Beasts. His father had screamed at him too. He had _yelled_ , saying that his behavior wasn’t fit for a young man, wasn’t fit for the _hero of Hyrule_.

 _What if I don’t want to be the hero,_ is what Link didn’t say.

 

* * *

 

And then he failed. Then the Champions died in their respective Divine Beast, nothing more than a bloody smear coating the walls of the mechanical fauna. Then Hyrule landed in Ganon’s malicious clutches. And Link, despite all his training, finally falls beside the princess, not knowing if she’ll be there when or if he wakes up, but sure that he had failed. Sure that he had let everyone down.

 

* * *

 

He had sorrow on his mind upon awakening from his century long stasis, but did not recall his failures. Then, it was okay. Then, he felt only traces of guilt, with no discernible source. Link learned the hard way that ignorance really is bliss.

 

* * *

 

He and Sidon began courting. At first it was okay; Sidon was an indefatigable friend, then a resolute lover, whom cared for and loved Link deeply. It made Link feel normal; or at least, as normal as a Hylian dating a Zora could feel. After making sure his lover wasn’t simply a way to cope with his unending despondency, Link allowed himself to be loved. At first, he didn’t see Sidon as someone he could disappoint. At first, Sidon was a clean slate that gifted Link the opportunity to start a life where expectations didn’t abuse him.

But then, oh, but _then_ he remembered.

 

* * *

 

Even though he was armed with Mipha’s grace and Daruk’s protection, such powers couldn't keep the thoughts from dragging their jagged nails across his skin. His recollections slowly returned, along with his tormentors and the expectations of what he should do, what he’s _destined_ to do. His happiness and awe for the lush land was replaced by melancholy and terror, ruins no longer wondrous remnants of a culture’s rich history, but rather a constant reminder of his inability to protect.

What would happen to Sidon? Would he fail him too? He couldn’t fail; he wasn’t _allowed_ to fail.

Unfortunately, the maelstrom of thoughts flooded Link’s will, and suddenly the hero was back at square one.

 

* * *

 

He first heard of it as he traveled through Kakariko, as he exited the shrine that overlooked the village.

“I know it hurts, but you can't do that to yourself,” cooed an old lady to a sobbing teenager, rubbing the neat red lines along her wrists.

Link scoffed. In a word, he was confused.  If she was in pain, why would she do something that only caused _more pain_? It didn't make sense, so Link let the idea slip to the back of his mind without preamble. He already had enough to deal with, thanks.

 

* * *

 

The seasons were in that odd transitional stage, where the air was still warm with the summer sun’s rays, but crisp with autumn undertones during the day. The thought had returned. It was like opening a package you forgot you ordered; the idea’s arrival was abrupt, but not completely surprising. While roasting the remains of a skinned boar, Link had accidentally cut his thumb as he organized arrows in his quiver, sat idly by a gentle flame to keep himself warm, hands shaky with the Tabantha region’s bitterly cold nights. Blue hues zeroed in on the bead of blood that welled up along the slit, shiny and red like the rubies he’d collected from Death Mountain. He smeared it across his digits, tapping his index finger against the thin layer to test its stickiness. He pressed beside the wound to coax out another drop, repeating the process. After that, he pressed hard, watching with his jaw slack as blood poured from the cut, dribbling down his hand. It throbbed, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

When he finally snapped back to reality with the howl of a wolf, Link wiped the blood off on snow below him.

When he woke up that morning, however, the blood would not come out.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, now wrapped up in snowquill gear, and tracking down an ice talus for the sake of a Rito guard, Link found himself in a very similar position; a weak fire dying and quietly crackling before him, soft but frigid snow beneath, and arrows in hand. Purposefully, Link swiped his thumb across the head of the arrow once more. It cut deeper, and didn’t need any prompting to dash down his wrist and stain the snow.  It was only when he noticed his blood was soaking into the downy sleeves of his new tunic did he attempt to wipe up the carmine liquid. He rubbed fresh snow up his arms, turning it red, then pink, then white once more. He wrapped up the wound with some spare cloth he’d bought from the Rito Village before pulling on his gloves.

It was only then Link realized that, for once, it didn’t hurt. He didn’t think about the emotional typhoon in his mind, he didn’t hear the prophecies or promises he was supposed to follow.That constant weight on his chest, that heavy pull on his sternum and squeeze in his lungs simply vanished. It disappeared. The poison in his blood was gone, so long as he had adrenaline and pain coursing through his veins instead.

 

* * *

 

It was okay. He didn’t do it often. Not that he needed to, with the constant brawling with the monsters about the land. For some strange reason, he was okay with whatever pain he’d inflict on himself, but kept himself parrying and dodging foes' attacks. He supposed it was because of the control he held when he was his own abuser. Nevertheless, he still enjoyed playing with the bruises blunt weapons left in their wake. He would press his fingers into the bruises that ran up and down his body like giant, ugly animal tracks, hissing at the slow-growing pain. It was a nice, heavy, muted feel, a warm vibration that made the red of his wounds so much brighter.

‘If I just _happen_ to mess up, or if I just _happen_ to get hit a little too hard, that’d be fine,’ he thought. He wouldn’t actively seek out pain from the monsters, but if it happened, it happened.

Unwittingly, the young man sinks into a crater many others fall into as well, but often fail to climb out of.

 

* * *

 

Sometime in the a.m.’s, Link begins carving words into his skin with his blunt nails, starting with a few scribbles along the skin of his outer thigh. White lines follow in his wake, but only briefly, soon transitioning into an angry shade of red.

 _“Weak”_ it reads.

Another set of characters, this time on his inner thigh.

 _“Coward”_ it taunts.

Link revels in the burning sensation, but it’s not enough. He replaces his nails with the point of a sword. Writing becomes a more tedious process, but Link is determined and _can’t stop_. Tears that well up in his eyes cause his lashes to stick together, but Link blinks them away the best he can. Variations of _“Disgraceful”_ , _“Worthless”_ , and _“Damaged”_ litter his stomach, scattered and jagged like shattered glass. And the worst part is all the words on his body are suddenly synonymous for _Link_ , and the broken Hylian can’t help but feel like he’s reached his lowest point, that he’s finally soiled and spit on his entire lineage. A cacophony of his own wails of torment fills the night when Link finally lets the tears fall.

 _“Overemotional”_  he sketches across his palm.

 

* * *

 

He avoided days where he would visit Zora’s Domain because his lover was absolutely unavoidable once Link entered a ten meter radius of him. It was especially difficult to hide himself when they both decided to go all the way. Link was thankful for the refuge from the constant brilliance Zora’s Domain emitted when in Sidon’s chambers, because although it was beautiful and elegant, driving away the darkness with the grace of a swan, it wouldn’t hide the fresh, neat scars tucked along his hips and legs. Sidon’s eagerness may have also played a part; since Link often departed for long periods of time, Sidon was reluctant to take his time with the Hylian, especially with how the blond begged for him to hurry up.

He only agrees to do it at night, and wonders if Sidon notices that pattern, if he thinks anything of it. Link banishes the thought as soon as it surfaces. If he’d learned anything besides how to wield a sword in his youth, it’d be that no one notices anything.

 

* * *

 

Sidon’s _“I love you”_ ’s fall on deaf ears. When Sidon voiced those words, whether it be through a code of _“Have you eaten today?”_ ’s or physical contact, Link just couldn’t accept them. He, a failure to everyone, wasn’t worthy of such care. The expression only burned like hot chocolate, meant to be creamy and saccharine, but far too scorching to be enjoyable.

 

* * *

 

Sidon knocks, and Link doesn’t answer. He tries to lead his lover away from negative thoughts, tries little questions like  “How are you?” but only receives a sharp _“I’m fine, really.”_ Unbeknownst to the hero, Sidon can name the _minute_ Link had switched from avidly retelling the highlights of his most recent trip to a blunt _“I’m fine, really.”_ He could pinpoint the very _day_ Link had come to Zora’s Domain with the usual glint of life in his eye missing, leaving once sparkling sapphire eyes a dull, empty navy. But the prince wasn’t wise; he was still young and dumb and too full of faith. He had thought Link just needed to be strong alone. After all, the boy had been through so much, through abuse and physical beatings only to pop out the other end completely fine after a few days of healing. So he pressed his lips together and told himself that Link could handle it, that Link wasn’t a child that needed his constant worrying.

 

To this day, keeping his mouth shut is Sidon’s biggest regret.

 

* * *

  


Link gets bold; he starts cutting even before his visits to the domain, but Sidon still doesn’t notice.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t notice when he holds Link’s head against his chest, murmuring into his hair.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t notice when Link falls asleep on his stomach, both drifting lazily down a river.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t notice when Link clutches his crest, eyes dangerously close to the cuts on his thighs.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t notice when Link is folded up beneath him.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t notice when Link rides him.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t notice.

 

* * *

 

Link forces his eyes open as morning light pours into Sidon’s chambers. As usual, the prince had already left to attend to his duties, a little note somewhere on the nightstand. Link doesn’t even bother unfolding it. As he throws it away, he feels his chest grow tight; surely the prince would have noticed by now. Surely this lack of confrontation meant that he really didn’t care after all. Link struggles to center himself on the desolate aura of the room, the untenanted area only adding to the crushing weight on his ribs. He feels like a burden. Like he’s not doing enough, not working hard enough to free the other Champion’s from their tomb in the divine beasts, simply sucking up his and the Zora prince’s time up like an attention-starved leech. Memories played over in his head like an old film, blurry and glitching, but still intact enough to get the message across. It rests on his shoulders as ravens would, burdens digging their talons deep into his muscle, tearing out strings of flesh when he tried to shake them off. The burden of having to be the hero he has to be; the burden of being a failure that couldn’t protect the princess; the burden of not being what Sidon thinks he is; of having the dark secret of cutting to alleviate the overwhelming tension of it all.

Link rushes to pick up the things he had haphazardly thrown about the room in his haste last night, searching his bag for a small, decorated dagger he had bought at the Kara Kara Bazaar in the Gerudo Desert. It was reserved for times like this, for things like this where a sword or spear or arrow would be impractical.

Link steps out of his undergarments, ironically careful not to accidentally nick himself with the blade in his hands has he backs into Sidon’s bed. He lets a long sigh slip from his lips as he drags the edge across the skin of his thigh, an almost _glowing_ red spilling from the wound, along with the pent up pressure inside of him. It's almost as bright as the rubies decorating the dagger. He spreads the blood over his hip, enjoying the hot stickiness of it that smoothers when he dips his fingers again. With a hiss, Link draws another line right below the previous one, organizing a little row of identical cuts. He’s slower this time, drawing it out, and gasping with relief when he finally pulls the dagger away. He clutches the dagger to keep himself from going again.

 _‘I shouldn’t do this, at least not here,’_ he thinks.

 _“Coward,”_ laughs a voice he doesn’t recognize.

The blood continues to roll down his legs, and Link loosens his grip.

He draws a third line.

 

* * *

 

The shower erases all the red that covered his torso and legs from where he had been playing with the blood. The soap stung a little, but Link supposes that’s just another layer to the process. The towel comes away slightly pink, but it’s nothing that won’t come out in the next wash. The servants don’t really question it anyways.

No more blood oozes out as he wraps the towel around his waist and returns to Sidon’s room, bending over to begin sifting through his collection of armor. The cleanliness of his clothing is debateable, but Link couldn’t care less. His muscles lock when he feels fingers on his hips.

“My dear, you look absolutely _divine_ like this. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if we…” Sidon’s fingers strokes the soft skin of his lover’s waist, and Link can feel his hot breath on his ear. Being with Sidon is akin to dethawing yourself after a particularly cold day. Once you hit that wall of heat upon returning home, you begin to feel a buzz, a steady hum that starts off at the tips of your fingers, which only crescendos as feeling returns to your toes and ears. It feels a little funny, but also undoubtedly _right._  He enjoys the undertones of pain that come from sex, and as long as Sidon doesn’t turn him around, he wouldn’t get caught. Sticking to his audacious streak, Link pushes back against his lover’s hands.

“I would love to,” he purrs.

It’s not long before he’s pinned against the nearest flat surface, the vanity, feet no longer touching the ground as his chest is pushed flushed to the smooth, cold… stone? Link wasn’t quite sure of the material. His musings are cut short when Sidon’s hand slips under his sternum, thumbing his nipples with his palm at the base of his ribcage. Link moans and writhes in his lover’s grasp.

Sidon pulls away only to snatch some oil from his nightstand, returning swiftly and pressing his lover’s entire body against his, lifting Link off the ground completely before falling back onto the bed. The mattress wasn’t like most mattresses Link had slept on; it had a certain give to it that allowed Zoras to rest comfortably, without crushing their headfins. Thusly, the pair bounced before settling into a deep kiss. They'd learned the hard way that trying kiss while the mattress wobbled beneath them would only lead to a bloody, iron-tasting disaster. Sidon’s tongue rushed into Link’s mouth, causing the hero to jerk and moan softly, breath heavy and audible. When they pull away, Link’s hands make their way to Sidon’s neckpiece, unclasping it with practiced ease and twisting to place it gently on the floor, and Sidon laughs. The sound sends Link’s heart fluttering, pounding like the wings of a trapped hummingbird. Clinging to his lover, he once again asks the prince to hurry up, writhing in their hands. Sidon gives him exactly what he wants, pouring oil onto his hands and reaching down to find his lover’s entrance, stretching him out with such elegance that one could almost consider it an art form. His tiny lover rolls his hips, clutches his biceps, and begs for him to go harder, faster, more, and Sidon happily gives it to him. The prince leans down to kiss, pressing his tongue into the other’s mouth once more, lips moving against the other’s as they always do; their moans are mixed and muffled as Sidon stretches open his lover.

Link throws his head back when Sidon hits that special place that makes stars explode behind his eyelids, that pushes him so close to the edge with just a few strokes. Sidon uses his free hand to clutch Link’s hips, holding him steady as he forces another finger into his entrance.

Then he stops. Link whines loudly, rolling his hips almost deliriously to incite the other to start moving again.

“Sidon, please!” He begs, eyes fighting to focus on his lover’s face. It’s all a blur, and Link decides to just keep them closed. It felt so good, so burningly delicious; Sidon is a note fine-tuned to fit the rules of the harmonic, sound waves steadying within one another to create something new; a singular, euphonic, resonant reverberation.

“You’re hurt.”

And just like that, the sound breaks into dissonance, alarm bells ringing and bursting like firecrackers in his mind.

Link _isn’t_ lying when he says he felt his organs detach from the inside of his stomach and drop straight to the ground. He isn’t lying when he says he felt his heart attempt to climb out of his body through his throat. He isn’t lying when he says that, as his eyes open to reveal Sidon clutching his hand with wet red on his fingertips, he could feel all the liquid in his body congeal and thicken in his veins, gut, and head. He tries to fight to get away but Sidon pins him down and rolls him to his side to look at the injury, to look at the clean straight lines that are oozing red onto the sheets, reopened in their vigorous loving.

Link punches him, clear across the jaw, before pulling up his leg and kicking his lover square in the chest. Sidon falls backwards in a daze and Link backs up into the corner of the bed, curling up as if to hide from the evidence.

“Link!”

He shakes as panic begins to flood his body. He fucked up, Sidon found out, and he _hit_ Sidon, he _hit_ him and he’s probably going to hit him back. Large hands try to pull his arms away from his face, but Link fights back with everything in him, twisting away from the clawed fingers.

“My pearl, what is wrong? Who hurt you? What happened?”

“Nobody hurt me,” Link growls around the sobs caught in his throat, eyes stinging as tears of panic leave hot trails down his cheeks.

“But you’re bleeding! Please, please tell me what’s wrong, my love,”

Link had always considered himself a good actor; even with his constant tears he was able to keep a straight face for most of his life, convincing many that he didn’t mind his position as the hero of Hyrule. Link had always liked his ability to lie, to keep quiet and bear any burden placed on him without stuttering, without hesitating, without flinching.

But now, as he spares a guilty glance towards his pile of things with his stomach turning, a single question boils to the top of his gut: Did he clean it afterwards?

Sidon easily catches the telltale glance and leaps for the pile, and Link processes it a little too late, is a little too slow and fails to catch his lover before he leaves his radius, a little too slow as Sidon holds the bloody dagger in his hand.

“Link…” The pain in Sidon’s voice is worse than any cut Link has ever given himself, worse than any scratch or blow he’d ever received. It makes Link crumple to the floor, naked, bleeding, and sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry,”

Sidon is frozen, staring between the stained blade and his trembling lover.

The knife clatters to the ground as Sidon throws his arms around Link, pulling him into a tight hug, tucking the blond boy’s head against his breast.

“It’s alright, my love, it’s alright.”

Those words only make Link sob harder.

 

* * *

 

Link keeps his face covered as Sidon cleans up his hip, covering the fresh marks with bandages to keep them from opening up and bleeding again. He lets the pillow absorb his tears and muffle his sobs as Sidon runs his hands all over the previous marks, exploring Link’s skin. Now he can tell which ones were intentional; they were cleaner, and bunched around each other, parallel stripes running up and down the Hylian’s body. He spots some words in the mess of scars too, but they’re hard to make out. That makes Sidon’s heart contort with repentance; how long had his lover been hurting in such a way? Tears roll down the Zora’s cheeks as he takes in his pain, not understanding how or why or where it all came from. He laments the times he couldn’t protect his boyfriend, the times he’s never noticed. He failed as a lover, for lovers were supposed to heal and protect, not neglect and hurt. He’s never noticed the different set of scars littering Link’s skin, an obvious cry for help. He’s never noticed the bloody stain on his pearl’s heart.

When Link calms to just shivers of emotion, Sidon dresses him gently in the softest clothes he can find, pulling Link’s signature tunic over his head and nuzzling him gently. Link, however, is limp and unresponsive. He tries to feed him, but unlike every time before, Link barely takes a bite, not even attempting to push around the rice on his plate to _pretend_ he was eating. When he tries talking, Link is uncommunicative, withdrawn, and would be crying if he had the tears.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,”

The cracked voice was thick with tears, and seemed to be coming from Link’s throat rather than his mouth. It caught Sidon off guard, and the prince recoiled at the heart wrenching tone it radiated.

“I’m sorry I’m not the hero I’m supposed to be, I’m sorry I can’t even protect myself, I’m sorry, I’m so, so, so, so, so sorry. I’m so weak, I’m no good, I’m fucked up and broken and wrong and don’t deserve to be loved--”

“Link!” Sidon grabbing his lover’s hands once more. Once again, he was met with resistance, and the prince quickly loosened his grip as the blond fell silent with a whimper.

“How could you say that? How could you say I shouldn’t love you? You’ve done so much for Hyrule, for the royal family, and for my people. You _are_ a hero, Link.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“But you _are_ , Link. You’re the bravest, most kind hero I could possibly have the fortune of meeting.”

“Heroes don’t cry; heroes don’t _want_ to die; heroes don’t _forget_ the people they’re supposed to protect! Sidon, I’m not a hero, not when I’m this _broken_!” His voice rose with each bullet, the Hylian slowly bringing up his head to further project his voice.

“You’re not broken, lo--”

“Shut up!”

Silence rang through the room, and one could swear the ornate glass bottles along the vanity shook, as if quivering in trepidation. Tears began to sting Sidon’s eyes; how had he been so neglectful that this could have enfolded so, that Link could be in so much pain. Upon noticing the wetness in his lover’s eyes, Link finds himself curling back in on himself.

“Heroes don’t hurt the people they’re supposed to protect,” he sobs out, hiding his face behind his knees.

“Heroes are allowed to feel whatever they want to feel. You’re mortal Link, and to err is human.” Sidon keeps his hands raised, as if unsure of whether he wanted to wrap his arms around Link of keep them glued to his side.

“Okay,” Link sniffled, suddenly feeling trapped, “Okay, I get it, I got to be positive and stuff, right? Fine, just stop talking. I don’t want to talk about this, I’ll get better on my own--”

“So now that I’ve called you out on it you’ll suddenly recover?”

Had Link been well, he’d have enough spite to say yes. But in his exhaustion, he simply flinched away from Sidon’s steady voice.

“Suddenly you won’t cut anymore? Suddenly you won’t hate yourself anymore?” The prince presses forward, lips curling back in a way that reflected an animalistic snarl. “It doesn’t work that way Link, and you know it. No more Divine Beasts until you recover; I don’t want you out of the southeast side of Hyrule.

“You can’t do that!” He protested, feeling his heart race as epinephrine rushed through his veins. “I can’t just ‘take a break’ from my mission! I can’t just let Hyrule suffer while I take a fucking vacation!”

“Vacation? You _need_ time to yourself, you _need_ to recover. Helping your mental health isn’t a vacation!” Sidon made a point to lock eyes with Link, golden hues almost amber with passion.

“Please. We’re going to get through this together, but I need your help. You don’t have to be a hero to save yourself, you just need to be willing. I’m not going to save you, I really can’t do that, but…” Sidon took hold of Link’s tense, sweaty hands, bringing them close to his chest before squeezing gently. “I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

 

* * *

 

It isn’t easy at first, of course; Sidon didn’t want to overwhelm Link, but had to make sure he wasn’t tempted by any weapons. Both of them made a conscious effort to steer clear of any sharp objects, including glass pens the calligraphists of the domain collected. Trying to find something to occupy Link’s time was difficult; leave him alone for too long and he’ll be consumed with thoughts, but stuff him into a crowd and he’ll break down from overstimulation. When Sidon was able to get in contact with a trustworthy doctor, Link was slow to spill his thoughts. It wasn’t in his nature, after all, he'd spent his whole life pulling up walls to hide his shameful thoughts. Strangely enough, though, the doctor was kind and encouraging, and didn’t seem to care that he was the Hylian Champion at all, simply stating that Hylia and the prophecy was nothing more than a legend made up to keep hope alive in his opinion. He said the only reason Calamity Ganon still raged today was because everyone blindly believed in lore and didn’t even try to fight Ganon themselves. Before they could get too far into the topic, though, the doctor righted the conversation by stating the session was for Link’s sake, not his.

Following the session, the Champion doesn’t find himself feeling any better. The weight in his chest still feels heavy, but in all honesty he didn’t expect much. However, he muses Sidon’s positivity _must_ be rubbing off on him somehow, because even though he’s not relieved of his stress, he’s not feeling any worse than before, and he is thankful for that. While Sidon continues his studies as prince and works out political relationships and land disputes, Link finds himself tagging along with Bazz, the two slowly uncovering memories of a pre-calamity Hyrule as they monitor the domain. At first Bazz seemed scared; scared of hurting the little Hylian, and carefully tip-toed around the subject of violence, but thankfully dropped the facade when Link mentions his standoffish persona.

When Link returns to Sidon’s chambers, he is surprised to find Sidon already there, hunched over a desk. His tired eyes rise with the gentle clicks of the door’s latch unhinging, and then crinkle around the edges when he lets a radiant grin rise to his face.

“How are you?” He coos, pushing away from his desk.

Link sighs, and opens his mouth with a nonchalant “I’m fine, really.” on the tip of his tongue, but he quickly snaps his teeth together.

“My arms hurt from trying to pick up Bazz,” He whines instead, a genuine smile lifting the corners of his mouth as well.

“You tried to carry him?” Sidon encourages, striding across the room in a few quick steps. Link nods.

“Well, tell me more, my pearl,”

 

* * *

 

The doctor tells Sidon of a few elixirs that may aid in stabilizing Link’s moods, and in a few days the prince has search parties scouring the land for ingredients. Link complains, of course, saying that Sidon’s help was enough and he didn’t need whole groups of Zora aiding him, but it’s all in vain. Sidon assures him that the gatherers don’t know of Link’s mental state, and simply think it’s the makeup of a concoction the herbalists are experimenting with. Besides, a lot of the ingredients aren’t particularly rare anyways. Still, this fact doesn’t assuage Link’s guilt when he reports that the elixir isn’t really helping, and quickly goes through three variations in one month. He hadn’t expected the elixirs to stifle every negative emotion in him, replacing his angst with satisfaction or happiness, but a part of him wishes it did. While they do tackle the voices that once niggled at the back of his mind, it leaves his mind feeling empty and unfeeling. He feels like nothing more than an empty cicada shell, simply existing to, well, _exist._ Hell, Hyrule Fields has more going on in it than his mind does in this state. His head doesn’t feel real; it feels like an endless white sheet of paper, an infinite plane of absolute nothingness.

Bottom line is, the medication doesn’t work, but Link says it’s fine. He knows he’s being a bother to the Zoras that have to leave their homes and families and wade through the monsters he had to face before for a few ingredients because their damn hero couldn’t have helped himself. He dutifully takes his elixirs every day, if only because Sidon measures the remaining amount before going to bed.

Speaking of Sidon, the scarlet Zora hadn’t touched him since he first discovered Link’s dirty secret. Besides regular hugs, hand-holdings, and glancing brushes, they hadn’t touched at all, and Link misses it. No more quick pecks, soft caresses, or hot, humid makeout sessions. No shared showers, or sleepy cuddles late at night. In fact, he seems to be straight up avoiding Link, scooting to the far side of the bed when the hero decides the occupy the middle. Link eventually stops reaching out, and stays on his own side. He doesn’t dare make another move to the prince.

 

* * *

 

 He hates it. He hates it because it _hurts_. It hurts when Sidon stares at him when he thinks Link doesn’t notice, how he rakes his eyes down his body, over his scars both intentional and accidental, while Link pretends to be asleep. He despises the remorse in his lover’s eyes as the prince takes a few extra moments in the morning to simply gaze at Link and wonder where he went wrong. The time wherein Sidon would kiss Link’s forehead is filled with nothing but pitiful glances, and it makes the Hylian’s blood boil.

 

* * *

 

How many months had it been? How long had he been absent from the rest of Hyrule? How long had he been relaxing in a palace while the rest of the world suffers?

Well, it was certainly long enough for Sidon to start trusting Link again.

Bazz gets moved to monitor the underwater levels of the domain.

Sidon only checks his elixirs once a week.

No one bats an eye when Link reaches for his weapons, and makes his way to the guard’s training area.

Link takes a deep breath, and continues pretending to be alive.

 

* * *

 

Link usually trains by himself, unleashing flurries of attacks on steel dummies with surprising grace. You’d think he’d be rusty with weapons by now, but fighting came as easily to him today as it had the day he awoke from the Shrine of Resurrection. In all the free time he’d acquired, he was able to roam and read the books in the public library, which he quickly learned covered their paper literature in some sort of waterproof film. He also discovered that the exercise released some sort of chemical in him that’d aid in his recovery, though he didn't quite understand the chemistry behind it. Link didn’t delve too far into the details; as long as it was fun and not harmful to himself or the people around him, Link wanted to do it. He wanted to get better.

He barely registers it when Gaddison pads into the room almost completely silent under the sounds of Link’s own grunts and the harsh _clangs_ of metal on metal.

“Let me train with you,” is how she announces her presence. She almost giggles when the Champion jumps at her voice, but settles with a small smile as he nods excitedly.

 

* * *

 

He’s getting better. He’s doing well. So well, in fact, that he doesn’t even need a doctor anymore. He doesn’t even need his medication anymore. He doesn’t stray far from the domain, but does eventually venture as far as Floria Bridge when he’s supposed to be at his appointments. He feels guilty, but smashes that guilt down by helping out at the stables, filling his time by slipping the horses extra apples when no one is looking, and taking pictures of the falls by the bridge.

When Link teleports back to the azure-glowing shrine, he jumps when he sees Sidon waiting there for him.

“Where have you been?” He questions, voice low and demanding, but somehow smoothly authoritative. It was certainly the voice of royal, but not a tone Link was very familiar with. He found his mouth going dry, rendering his tongue useless as he stuttered out a half-assed excuse. Sidon cuts him off with a click of his tongue, and turns around on his heel; Link barely registers that he’s making his way to his bedroom.

Link doesn’t move for what seems like an eternity, caught up in his own rapidly beating heart and staccato breaths. He’s barely figured out how to put one foot in front of the other to follow the prince, trembling with anxiety. He leans heavily on whatever he can, stopping every few minutes to catch his breath and blink tears out of his eyes. Link is suffocating in his own dread when he reaches for the handle to their chambers, half expecting his hand to simply slip off the ornate knob with how much sweat had gathered in his palm. He morbidly relates the rapid,  deafening beating of his own heart to tribal drumbeats counting down the miserable seconds to his ultimate death as he heaves the door open.

Sidon is on the opposite side of the room, his back to the Champion, gazing out the window and towards the East Resevoir.

“The amazing thing about life is that we have a lot of choices,” He begins, surprisingly soft compared to his tone from earlier. “Anyone could run up to Hyrule Castle right now. It wouldn’t be recommended, but they could. Anyone could confess their love to someone right now, and possibly start a new, more intimate relationship, or ruin the comfort in a pre existing one.”

Sidon finally turns around, and Link flinches under his gaze.

“The only choice we can’t make is the one that allows us to go back. Our actions are permanent,” he concludes, closing the space between them in a few long steps.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, my love. I really am proud of you, but if you hurt yourself you must know that it will affect both you and I forever. Please be honest with me, love. Why have you been skipping out on your meetings?”

Their emotions are palpable, buzzing in the air around them; it’s strong, yet soft, passionate, yet distant, a contradiction bound to the atmosphere. In his stomach, he can feel them drying and cracking like blood, curling and twisting and fighting inside him as they use his intestines as streamers. Disappointment screams the loudest in his ears, and it hurts more than any hit he’s ever endured. Panic encompasses him as he feels his eyes water again, spinning around haphazardly to keep the prince from noticing his pathetic display. There’s a beat of silence after Link barely manages to swallow down a sob that tried to wrench itself out of his throat, Sidon’s soft gasp hiding under the cries of his lover.

“Link,”

“I-I’m sorry, I can take it, I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry all I do is cry I know it’s gross and I don’t usually-- and I’m sorry, I really am.”

“ _L_ _ink._ ”

“I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I relied on you so much, I’m sorry all I do is _mess up_. I can’t do anything right, I’m sorry, I’m so, so, so sorry!”

“Link, really, calm down! You don’t have to be sorry for anyth--”

“I thought I was okay, I really did. I messed up, Sidon, _I’m_ messed up. I can’t save anyone. I can’t even save myself. I can’t even go to a fucking meeting. I can’t take some damn medicine with messing up. I can't even listen to a damn lecture without bursting into tears! I’m not getting better, I’m not and because of that I’m letting everyone down! Urbosa and Revali are still trapped in their Divine Beasts, our friends are still suffering because I can’t just _fucking stop messing up_. I’m sorry Sidon, I really am so, so, sorry.”

Sidon kneels beside Link’s quaking form as the hero falls to the floor. “Link… You haven’t--”

“I haven’t! No! I wouldn’t, I can’t cut again. Too scared. But Hylia, I’ve wanted to. I wanted to so bad because I just want to feel again. I just want to feel _something_. I’m sorry. I’m so--” This time Link’s own gasping breath cuts him off as his lungs binge on oxygen so they can release a harrowing sob.

“It’s okay, my pearl, it’s okay. It’s normal to want to relapse, it’s normal to mess up. You were doing very well, love, I promise.” Sidon presses his lips to Link’s forehead, brushing away blond tresses that stick to his forehead. “Please, you have to go to someone when it gets bad. You have to let someone know when you can’t handle any more. I, _everyone,_  wants to help you.”

“I’m sorry,”

Sidon shushes him and wraps his arms around Link, pulling him close. “I love you so much, my pearl.”

Finally, _finally,_ Sidon presses his lips to Link’s one hand on his head, not trapping, simply existing, and another on his waist. Link would never describe their kisses as ‘fireworks’ really. It wasn’t explosive, or loud, or heart-racing. It can’t be confined to a single word; the syllables fall through his mind like water through a sieve. It felt like coming home. It smelt comfort food, cinnamon, and evergreen trees, and sounded like wind blowing through an endless field of rice and flowers. It’s buzzing at his fingertips, warm and pulsing, the little hairs on his arms and the back of his neck prickling. It’s the roar of a waterfall, the feeling of polished sandalwood, and the spinning funnels of far-off broiling stars. He tastes mint and mangoes and frost as color balloons behind his heart-- african violet, strawberry red, and twilight indigo. His chest is full. His head swirls. His arms tingle. Somewhere in the periphery, he swears he hears the deep happy lowing of a blue whale, a swan’s song, and the gurgling of a serene stream.

Tears drip down his cheeks.

Link’s eyes flutter open-- since when had he closed them?

Had Sidon’s eyes always been that golden?

“I love you too,” He breathes out, barely a whisper.

 

* * *

 

Link doesn’t magically get better, obviously. It’s a slow process, but the urgency of healing is erased with each kind word and deep kiss. Sidon almost cries when he finds Link quietly humming to himself by a cooking pot, tongue sticking out in concentration as he contemplates the next set of ingredients he wants to haphazardly sauté together. Pride swells in his heart, but he doesn't dare disturb him. He lets Link be content by himself, without romance; he knows the dangers of associating healing with a person, and how it can manifest itself in the form of an unhealthy dependence. Sidon is careful, but not fearful.

His lips turn upward, and he walks away.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

“So… the Champion…” Bazz trails off, not wanting to seem pushy. He cares for his old friend, but knows better than to pick a scab, especially one as fresh Sidon’s.

“He’ll be okay.”

Bazz scoffs. “Yeah, I know that. He’s strong for a Hylian.”

“Yes, he is.” The prince sighs, and his shoulders seems to sag with his exhale. “I’m glad he came to me.”

Bazz glances to his superior, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Of course he did,” he announces, letting his stare follow the other Zora’s gaze, down to Link, frolicking around Mipha’s statue with a few children.

“Both of you are strong. You’ll get over this; you’ll beat it and you’ll heal. Together.”

Sidon nods.

“Together.”

 

* * *

 

Link is a liar.

He lied to himself when he denied any knowledge of knowing when it had started. He lied to his friends when he said it just ‘sort of happened’. And he lied to his lover without hesitation when he sternly claimed that he had no idea what triggered it.

Link is a liar.

But he’s healing.

He’s getting better at accepting and relaying the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if the numbers at the beginning are annoying, but I will not be moving them.
> 
> If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, don't hesitate to reach out. Trust me, finding someone to talk to, whether that be a friend, family member, or lover, is one of the most healing things you can provide for yourself.


End file.
